


Five Times Zuko Wanted to Die (and One Time He Didn't)

by JustAboutMidnight



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bad Pick-Up Lines, College Age AU, Crushes, M/M, Sokka is charming, Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck, and brilliant, boys being soft, fine jewelry, of course, seriously he can't string two words together, watch repair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-25 03:48:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22229626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustAboutMidnight/pseuds/JustAboutMidnight
Summary: “Sorry about that,” the voice says, and suddenly the curtain has been pushed aside, and Zuko is speechless. “What can I help you with?”He stares. “Um— ”The boy has to be around his age, he’s sure of it. He’s got the most perfect tan face Zuko has ever seen, with blue eyes so brilliant it’s hard to form words.orThe college-age AU in which Sokka fixes watches, Zuko struggles through engineering, and everyone's nervous about the cute boy from the jewelry shop.
Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 158
Kudos: 2920





	Five Times Zuko Wanted to Die (and One Time He Didn't)

**Author's Note:**

> These two are just so perfect for each other that it hurts. Please let me know what you think! <3

“Uh oh,” Zuko mutters, rubbing at the scuff on the seat. “Fuck.”

It doesn’t seem to be coming out. He puts his face in his hands and breathes in and out, in and out, and tries not to scream because he and his therapist have talked about this and it’s just a bad day, just one bad day…

“Fuck,” he groans, letting his forehead thunk against the steering wheel. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Because even by Zuko’s standards, today has been a whopper. He’d gotten got a terrible night of sleep, woken up late, and then raced to campus only to find that his class had been canceled. Then he’d gone to the library, intending to get some studying done, and missed his second class because he hadn’t noticed that his watch had stopped working. By the time his lab rolled around, he’d been in no mood to go, but had dragged himself there anyway only for his professor to call on him constantly — questions that he probably would have known the answers to if he hadn’t accidentally missed the lecture. Then his dad had called, yelling and angry like _always_ , and he’d spilled coffee on himself while trying to get in the car and yell back at the same time, and—

He sighs, looking down at the deep scuff in the black leather. This Mercedes is too nice for him, really; he loves the car, of course, but he’s always worrying about fucking it up. And he fucks _everything_ up.

“Don’t talk to yourself like that,” he tells himself half-heartedly, thinking of what Dr. Iroh would say. In his heart, though, he knows it’s true.

He gets out of the car reluctantly, shoving the keys into his pocket. Just one more stop. One more stop, and then he can go home and bury himself in an avalanche of blankets and forget that today ever happened.

The bell above his head tinkles gently as he shoves the door open. 

“Just a minute!” calls a voice from the back of the shop, and Zuko ambles up to the counter, resting his elbows against it. His eyes glance around the walls of Teo’s Fine Jewelry and Watch Repair. The shop never changes much, and he should know — his family has been coming here for a long time. The same gems glitter in the display cases, the same ornate grandfather clock ticks in the corner. Zuko unlatches his watch and palms it, tapping his fingers on the counter. He wants to get out of here and go home.

“Sorry about that,” the voice says, and suddenly the curtain has been pushed aside, and Zuko is speechless. “What can I help you with?”

He stares. “Um— ”

The boy has to be around his age, he’s sure of it. He’s got the most perfect tan face Zuko has ever seen, with blue eyes so brilliant it’s hard to form words.

“It’s your watch?” the boy says breezily, not even noticing the paralyzing effect he’s having. “Can I see it?” And he comes right up to the counter and plucks it out of Zuko’s hand faster than Zuko can say, ‘marry me.’

“Uh, yeah,” he says, trying to recover. “Yeah, it stopped working this morning.”

“Cartier, huh?” the boy says, already whipping out a magnifying glass. “Let’s take a look…”

Zuko knows that he’s staring but he can’t stop — he’s trying to take in so many features at once that his brain feels like it’s moving through pudding. He’s been in here dozens of times and he’s never seen this boy before — he would remember, that much is certain. He certainly doesn’t look like Teo’s typical starchy employee. His dark brown hair is shaggy, pulled back into a ponytail. He’s got a necklace on that looks like it’s made of shells, and his powder blue t-shirt sets off his tan in a way that makes Zuko want to faint. Even as he watches, the sleeve rides up a bit along the boy’s bicep, and some ink becomes visible — it looks like a tribal band, and _oh god oh god that’s really hot_.

“Did you damage it at all?”

“What?” he starts, eyes rocketing up to meet the other boy’s gaze. “Um, no, I didn’t do anything. I just realized that it’d stopped ticking when I missed my physics class.”

“Damn, man, that sucks,” the boy says sympathetically, stashing his magnifying glass. “Hard to catch up once you miss one of those.”

Zuko can only nod numbly. Fuck, fuck, you idiot, he’s trying to make conversation with you and you’re standing here like a tranquilized komodo-rhino!

“Well, I can have it ready for you by Thursday morning, if that works.”

“Yeah,” he clears his throat. “Yeah, that’s fine. Thanks.”

“No problem,” the boy says, pulling a tiny screwdriver from under the counter and sticking it behind his ear. “See ya then. Good luck in physics!”

And then he’s gone, back through the curtain, but it doesn’t matter.

Zuko is in love.

On Thursday morning, he’s a lot more careful about how he dresses. He shudders to think what Gorgeous Boy probably thought on Monday, when he shuffled into Teo’s looking like a half-dead slob. Today, he’s going to make a good impression.

He wakes up a little early and takes a long shower, washing his hair and using the nice bath gel his mom got him. Then he shaves, with a lot more care than usual, and even puts on some cologne. Clothes, he deliberates on for a while — he doesn’t want to look too ‘young professional’ — and settles on dark jeans and a plain black t-shirt. No need to go too crazy.

He stares in the mirror for a minute before he leaves the apartment, examining himself. He wishes he could do something about his scar, but there’s no hiding it — the best he can do is keep his hair down. 

When he walks into the shop, he’s hyper-aware of how fast his heart is pounding. It’s stupid, he knows it — he’s spent all of what, sixty seconds in this guy’s presence? — but he can’t help it. He’s always been hopeless when it comes to this stuff.

“Hey!” Gorgeous Boy walks through the curtain, grinning. “How’s it going?”

“Uh, good,” Zuko chokes out. Gorgeous Boy looks, if possible, even better today than he did on Monday. His hair is only partly pulled back, and he’s strung a couple of blue glass beads onto a strand in the front. His Santana t-shirt — fuck, Zuko _loves_ Santana — is sitting on him just right, hugging those tanned toned biceps where just a sliver of tribal ink is peeking out and _fuck fuck fuck_ —

“I’ve got your watch here,” the boy says, dropping to a crouch and rifling around underneath the counter. “No major issues, I fixed it up. It should work fine, but let me know if you have any problems.”

He sets it on the counter and looks up and it occurs to Zuko that he should probably stop staring and say something.

“Right. Thank you.”

“No problem. I’ll ring you out down here.”

“Right,” Zuko repeats, then wants to kick himself. 

“Hey,” the boy says suddenly, sniffing the air, his fingers poised over the register. “Something smells really good. Is that you?”

Zuko doesn’t need a mirror to know that he goes bright red instantly. “ Um—”

“I think it is,” the boy confirms before he can even string two words together. “Is that cologne? Aftershave?”

Zuko scoops up his watch and shuffles down to the register, hoping that his hair is hiding some of this Severe Blushing. “It’s— it’s cologne. Dolce & Gabbana.” 

“Oooh, fancy,” the boy teases, now tapping away at the register, and the teasing is not helping the Severe Blushing Problem. “Here’s your receipt. Did you want a copy of it?”

“No, thank you.”

“No problem. Hey, what’s your name?”

Zuko looks up, a little surprised. “Zuko.”

The boy smiles, and _fuck_ if that isn’t the most beautiful thing Zuko’s seen in weeks. “Zuko, huh? Well, nice to meet you, Zuko.”

“You too,” Zuko mutters, pushing his hair out of his eyes self-consciously and trying not to focus too much on how nice his name sounds in that mouth. “What’s yours?”

“Well,” the boy says, dramatically placing a hand to his heart, “ _you_ can call me Master of Clockwork, protector of all things punctual, and champion of all things timely. But most people just call me Sokka.”

Zuko blinks. “Sokka.”

Sokka nods, kindly ignoring the fact that Zuko just parroted his name back at him like a total weirdo. “Or Master of Clockwork.”

They stand there for a second, looking at each other. Zuko wants to fall headlong into those eyes and swim in them like a mountain lake.

“Well,” Sokka says, twirling his screwdriver deftly between his fingers, “back to work. Be good to that watch, now.”

“Right.” And before Zuko can say anything else, his new acquaintance is turning and walking back through the curtain.

His ass is as gorgeous as his face.

When he leaves the store, Zuko sits in his car and stares out the windshield for a solid five minutes. He knows that he’s probably smiling like a dope, but he’s floating inside — _his efforts were noticed. Gorgeous Boy liked the cologne._

No, not Gorgeous Boy, he corrects himself as he starts the car. Sokka. And what a perfect name — beautiful, a little tribal, just like its owner…

“Shut up,” Zuko tells himself, turning onto the street. “Do you even hear yourself?”

But one thing has become abundantly clear — he needs to either break another watch or buy some jewelry or something. So he heads for the suburbs, dialing his mom as he drives.

“Hello?”

“Hey, mom, it’s me.”

“Hi, sweetheart,” she says warmly. He can hear the glassy clink of her home lab in the background. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing much,” he lies. “I don’t have any class today so I’m running errands. I’m going to Teo’s to get my watch fixed, and I wanted to see if you need anything taken by there.”

“That’s thoughtful of you,” Ursa says, and Zuko wants to kick himself again for being such a lousy son. “I do actually have a few rings that I need appraised, but it’s a long drive out here, honey. You don’t have to— ”

“It’s okay,” Zuko says quickly. “I’m happy to do it, mom. I’ll be there in like twenty minutes.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. I’m on my way already.”

“Well, okay, sweetheart. I’ll see you soon!” She kisses into the phone and hangs up.

Zuko grins. Phase One is in motion.

He waits until Monday to go back. It’s difficult, but he doesn’t want Sokka to think he’s a total stalker, even if he kind of is. Three days pass, during which Zuko daydreams about blue eyes in class, at work, and at the dojo. 

“What’s going on with you?” Azula demands, when she knocks him to the ground for the fourth time that afternoon. “You’re sucking even more than usual lately.”

“Nothing,” Zuko snaps, getting gingerly to his feet. “Mind your own business.”

“Ooooh, touchy,” his sister sniffs. “Better keep your head in the game, Zuzu.” She aims a flurry of kicks at his head, which he blocks. “Don’t want dad to hear that you’re falling behind.”

“I don’t care what he thinks,” Zuko lies, dodging her fresh attacks. “And neither should you.”

Azula just laughs.

On Monday, he has to sit through class before he can go to Teo’s. He spends most of the day tapping his pen impatiently and staring out the window. He forgot his chemistry book, but he _did_ remember to put on the Dolce & Gabbana again — obviously. Zuko may be an idiot, but he’s not completely stupid. A lot hinges on Phase Two. 

When he walks through the door today, Sokka is already at the counter helping someone. Zuko hangs back awkwardly, clutching his mom’s ring boxes, and his heart near about stops when Sokka glances up and shoots him a smile, because _oh my god he remembers me_.

“Yeah,” Sokka is saying. “It’ll take some elbow grease, but if you just get some Wright’s and go to work, they should come out okay.”

He finishes ringing out the customer, and Zuko examines him. He’s wearing a Thrasher t-shirt today, and some very well-worn jeans. His hair is back up, but that strand with the beads still dangles free by his face. He looks like the hottest Inuit skater boy Zuko has ever seen, and he feels acutely aware of his Adidas track pants and Yeezys. 

“Hello, there, stranger,” Sokka greets him, and Zuko’s stomach does a backflip. “Need another favor from the Master of Clockwork?”

“Yeah,” Zuko says cleverly.

“Ah, rings?” Sokka asks, spotting the boxes in Zuko’s hands. “Are these Cartier too?”

Zuko blanches. He didn’t bother to ask his mom _what_ they were. “I don’t think so.”

Sokka leans his elbows on the counter and grins at him. “I didn’t really peg you as the ring-wearing type.”

Zuko glances down at himself self consciously, and Sokka laughs. “I’m just kidding, man. Nothing wrong with a guy who likes his rings.”

“They’re not mine,” Zuko says quickly, flushing. “They’re my mom’s. I need to get them appraised.”

“Gotcha,” Sokka says. Zuko notices that that little screwdriver is tucked behind his ear again, which is kind of cute. “Well, I don’t do that kind of stuff, but if you’ll leave them for the day, my boss can look at them tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll ring you out a ticket for them now, though, so it’s on the record books.”

He slides down to the register and starts tapping away, and Zuko mentally shakes himself. _Say something!_

“So, you only work on watches?”

Sokka looks up, like he’s kind of surprised Zuko is talking to him. “Yeah. I guess you could say I… like to watch.”

Zuko stares while Sokka laughs uproariously at his own joke. He seems completely unfazed by the lack of response he’s getting, and wipes his eyes. “That’s me. Watches and clocks. Not as flashy as the jewelry, I guess, but it’s more interesting.”

Zuko fidgets. “I’ve heard it’s difficult.”

Sokka shrugs, still grinning. “It’s hard at first. My dad taught me, though, so I’ve had lots of practice.”

Zuko can’t think of a response to this right away, so he stands there dumbly while Sokka finishes ringing him up. He’s suddenly aware of how empty the rest of the shop is, and how close they are to each other with only the counter between them. There’s soft music playing, Al Green or something. Those blue beads in Sokka’s hair are distracting, matching his eyes and dangling rather close to his lips, which are nothing to complain about either…

“Sign here.”

Zuko tears his eyes away and grabs a pen. His whole body feels clumsy.

“So, how’s physics coming?”

Sokka’s leaning on the counter again, twirling his screwdriver and looking at Zuko, who can’t believe this guy is nice enough to keep trying to make conversation with him.

“Brutal,” he says honestly, pushing the ticket back across the counter. “Missing that class really messed me up, and I just got assigned a pile of homework this morning.”

Sokka clicks his tongue sympathetically. “Sorry to hear it. Do you have it with you?” he indicates Zuko’s backpack. “Maybe I could help.”

Zuko is certain he’s starting to go red again because he _really_ doesn’t want to make himself look like a moron. “No— I mean, yes, I do have it, but—”

“Go on,” Sokka says encouragingly, tapping the counter. “I’m smarter than I look, I promise.” Then he laughs at himself, a full, wonderful sound that reverberates straight through Zuko. It’s like magic — the next thing he knows, he’s pulling out his physics worksheet as if in a trance.

“It’s not that hard, really, and I’m pretty sure I would get it if I hadn’t missed that class, I just—”

“Hey, man,” Sokka puts his hands up. “School sucks. I’m not judging. No shame.”

 _Burning_ with shame, Zuko pushes the worksheet towards him.

“Hmm,” Sokka says, with the air of someone unwrapping a large Christmas present. “Let’s see…”

The good thing about his attention being occupied is that it gives Zuko freedom to stare at close range. He takes full advantage. Sokka’s skin is the color of rich caramel, and his brows are dark. His cheekbones are high, giving him a chiseled look, but his mouth ruins the effect — it’s pliable, humorous, with full lips, and bearing the small lines that say he laughs often. And then, below… Zuko’s eyes drift down the firm line of his neck, which looks invitingly smooth and warm, and find the place his t-shirt dips just below his collarbone. God, what he wouldn’t give to taste there, map it out with his tongue...

“Okay,” Sokka says, and Zuko’s forced to wrench his gaze back up to those blue eyes. “I think I get it.” 

He looked at it for all of thirty seconds, so if he _does_ get it, then Zuko is dumber than he thought. 

Sokka puts down his screwdriver in favor of a pencil and starts to go down the worksheet, methodically and concisely explaining while Zuko tries to bully his brain into concentrating. Once he does, he’s amazed — because what he’s hearing actually makes _sense_.

“Wow,” he says.

“Did that help?” Sokka asks a little anxiously, now twirling the pencil. “I can write some notes for you, if you want—”

Zuko almost laughs, and Sokka blinks. “No, that’s okay. I don’t think I’ll need it. That definitely helped.”

“Really?” he grins, looking relieved. “Good, because I’m totally winging this.”

“I can’t tell,” Zuko says honestly. “I feel like I should offer to pay you for tutoring, or something.”

It’s Sokka’s turn to laugh, and Zuko treasures the sound, tucks it silently away in his memory bank. “No problem, man. Anytime.”

Something very warm and fluttery blooms in Zuko’s ribcage and he realizes that he’s _smiling_ at the Gorgeous Boy in front of him. “Thanks for your help.”

“I got you,” Sokka says. “Good luck with the rest of it.”

For half a second, Zuko considers asking for his number, but no, no, no — this guy isn’t interested in him, he’s just being nice. And besides, who knows if he even likes boys? _Oh god, what if he doesn’t?_ … No, no, no. He is not going to indulge these kinds of thoughts, it’s none of his business. It’s so unfair, though. How can someone be so beautiful and also a genius?

“Thanks,” he says again, tucking the worksheet back into his bag. “So, about those rings…”

“You can come pick them up tomorrow night,” Sokka says. “I’ll make sure the boss looks at them.”

Zuko nods, because he doesn’t want to say thanks a third time and sound like even more of a parroting weirdo. “Okay. See you.”

“See you, Zuko.” Sokka waves before ducking back through the curtain. His scuffed blue high-tops complete the Hot Skater Boy picture.

Zuko has a hard time focusing on physics that night.

It’s almost too good to be true that he’s going to get to see Sokka again the very next day, and Zuko floats through his worksheet and his two classes. Even his father, who calls him seven times and leaves three angry voicemails, can’t dampen his spirits — he’s got bigger things to worry about. 

_Whack!_

“Higher,” Zuko insists, moving the mitts. “Put more punch into it.”

_Whack!_

“More! Be ferocious!”

_WHACK!_

“Good. Now, again.”

_WHACK! WHACK!_

“Very good,” he says, shifting his stance. “You’re getting better.”

“Really?” Haru grins. “Thank you, sensei.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Zuko warns. “After this, we’re sparring.”

He works with his pupil on the mitts for another twenty minutes, and then they move to the mat. Haru is improving steadily — he’s got a great work ethic, and it makes him one of Zuko’s favorite students. He’s grateful that Azula isn’t around the dojo today to bother him, and they make good progress until the timer rings for five o’ clock.

“That’s it for today,” Zuko says, wiping the sweat off his face. “Good work.”

They bow, and as soon as Haru is out the door, Zuko is dashing for the locker room.

He showers at the dojo, washing his hair and thinking hard. The evening class won’t start until six, so he has plenty of time to vacate and get over to Teo’s before his sister shows up. He wonders what Sokka is doing, and if he’s thought about him at all in the day since they last saw each other. He also tries very hard not to think about Sokka’s wealth of physical loveliness, because he really doesn’t have time to jerk off right now if he’s going to blow dry his hair. 

Traffic is bad, and he gets to the shop fifteen minutes before close. The bell tinkles familiarly overhead, and a now-familiar voice calls from the back.

“Be right out!”

Zuko’s heart is revving up again, into that hard _ka-thump, ka-thump_ rhythm that Sokka inspires. He wonders if he’ll ever be able to come in here again without his palms sweating. 

“Well, hello there,” Sokka grins, pushing through the curtain. “I was starting to think you might have forgotten to come.”

This is laughable considering the fact that Zuko has thought of nothing _but_ coming back in the last twenty-four hours, but he’d die before he made this admission. “Traffic wasn’t the best.”

“No worries,” Sokka says, rifling under the counter. “Let me find these rings, here…”

Zuko doesn’t understand how Sokka manages to look hotter every time he sees him, but he does. Today he’s got on a navy thermal that hugs his shoulders just right, with the top two buttons open to his collarbone. That collarbone…

“Here we go.”

“Thanks,” Zuko mutters. He can feel himself stiffening in his jeans and he really, really, really can’t afford to lose any blood to his brain right now. 

“Sure. Here’s the receipt, if you can just sign it…”

Zuko does. “I got a grade on my worksheet today. Eighty-five percent.”

“Hey!” Sokka looks pleased. “Nice work.”

Zuko pushes the slip back across the counter.“Thanks to you.”

Sokka grins. “Nah, man, that was all you. I barely did anything.” He stretches for the ceiling, straining, and then flops over to touch his toes. Zuko stares. He’s wearing beat up black Vans today. His shoelaces are interesting — blue, and strung with a few shells. “What a day.”

Zuko feels his stomach turn over with this fresh attempt at conversation and wonders why he gets the urge to run out the door every time Sokka tries to talk to him, even though all he wants is to get to know him better. 

“Have you been busy?”

“Busy enough,” Sokka says, now twisting to stretch out his back. “I’ve been busting my ass on this Rolex and I got like three new pieces I’ve gotta work on tomorrow.” He relaxes and sighs, his hands coming to rest on the counter, and then grins up at Zuko. “But that’s okay. Rent’s due next week and I really could use a new deck and some new trucks, so I’m putting in hours.”

Zuko frowns. “Trucks?”

“Yeah,” Sokka says. He’s twirling that screwdriver again, seemingly unable to keep his hands still. “You know, like, for a skateboard?”

Zuko doesn’t know, but he nods anyway. “You’re almost out of here, right?”

“Yup,” Sokka glances at the clock. “Ten more minutes. Hey, how’s that Cartier treating you?”

“Perfectly,” Zuko says honestly. “Thanks for fixing it. I have to say, though, I’m considering getting a plastic Walmart version.”

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

“Oh, you know,” Zuko shifts uncomfortably. “Cartier. Kind of a lot of pressure not to mess it up.”

Sokka nods wisely. “That’s okay, though. Nice things get fucked up just like regular things. Nothing wrong with taking the good stuff life hands to you.”

Zuko recoils, feeling more self-conscious than ever about his watch, his car, his clothes, and just about everything else. “It’s not all handed to me. I mean, I have a job, and stuff. I’m not completely useless.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Sokka says quickly. 

There’s a prickly silence.

“Tell you what,” Sokka says apologetically. “Why don’t you come back tomorrow? I’ve got a bunch of watches at home that you might like. I’ll bring a few, and you can pick out a nice beater.”

Zuko hesitates, torn between the sting of his pride and the allure of seeing Sokka again. “You don’t have to do that— ”

“I’d like to,” Sokka says, and Zuko’s stomach turns over again. “Besides, Teo would kill me if I ran off a customer by being a dick on accident.”

Zuko looks at him suspiciously. Sokka’s smiling a little bit, but he looks more rueful than anything. Is it possible that he’s actually not messing with him?

“Well — okay.”

“Sounds good,” Sokka says, and is it Zuko’s imagination, or does he sound a little bit relieved? “I’ll see you tomorrow. Five thirty?”

“Okay.”

“It’s a plan. Now, get out of here so I can go home.”

Zuko scoops up his ring boxes, feeling a little hurt at this unceremonious dismissal, but Sokka is laughing again. “Hey, man, I’m just kidding. Drive safe, alright?”

“Alright,” Zuko says, and he thinks that maybe, just maybe, he smiles a little bit before he leaves.

Wednesday, however, does not get off to an auspicious start. Namely, Zuko’s father calls during the drive to school.

“We’ve talked about this,” Ozai snaps. “I can’t understand why you insist on making everything so much harder than it needs to be.”

“I’m not,” Zuko answers, gritting his teeth. “I’m not _making_ it hard. It _is_ hard.”

“Spare me.” Zuko can hear the ever-present sound of his father’s laptop click-clacking in the background. “Go to class, take notes, do the homework, and pass the tests. It’s simple. Just _do_ the work, Zuko.”

“I _am_ ,” Zuko says, craning his neck to balance his phone and check his blind spot at the same time. “I’m not _failing_. I have a B.”

“But a B doesn’t indicate total understanding, does it? Stop making excuses.”

Zuko has to grip the steering wheel with both hands to avoid banging his forehead against it. “Dad—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Ozai cuts him off. “You know the deal. Do well in school, and I’ll help you out with the car and the allowance. If you refuse to put in the work, you’re on your own. So figure it out, and figure it out fast.”

“I _understand_ the class—”

“Obviously not, or you wouldn’t have a B. Do you really want to add lying on top of laziness, Zuko?”

This is so unfair that Zuko almost screams. “I’m not lying, Dad. I do understand it. I just—”

“Stop contradicting me and show some respect.”

Zuko stares at the red light in front of him, quivering with so much frustration he thinks he might actually explode.

“Figure it out,” his father repeats. “And thank your lucky stars that I haven’t had to waste my patience on a conversation like this with your sister.”

Dial tone.

Zuko goes through the rest of his day in a blur, stomping from the library to class and back again. He tries to concentrate but it’s impossible. All he can think about is his dad, Azula, and the end of the semester in two weeks. It’s not very much time to try and pull the physics grade up to an A, but he’s going to have to try.

He’s dying to get into the dojo, and he floors it in that direction as soon as his class gets out. It’s the only thing that makes him feel better when his head is a mess like this — pummeling inanimate objects for hours on end. 

He doesn’t have any lessons today, for which he’s grateful — he wouldn’t be of much use to Haru, or Suki, or any of his other students in this state. He doesn’t talk to anyone when he gets there, just changes into his gi and heads for the bags.

It’s nothing new, this battle with his father, and yet the frustration never seems to lessen.

_WHACK! WHACK!_

It’s stupid, really, Zuko thinks. Why should he even care what his father says? Why should he care if his father thinks he’s a moron?

_WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!_

And it’s not _about_ the car, or the generous monthly allowance. And he’s _not_ a liar, the same way he’s _not_ lazy. There’s nothing wrong with getting a B, is there? Physics is a hard class.

_WHACK!_

Although, Azula took the same class last semester, and _she_ never had any problems with it. It figures. 

_WHACK! WHACK!_

Zuko sighs, stilling and wiping the sweat off his forehead. His legs ache.

_WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!_

Maybe his dad is right. Maybe it _is_ laziness. After all, he could be studying right now instead of working on his kicks. But studying just doesn’t calm the storm inside his head like this.

_ka-THUMP! WHACK!_

He knows that Ozai views his job at the dojo as a complete waste of time, and in a way, it is. He certainly doesn’t need the paycheck on top of his allowance to pay rent, or feed himself, or buy himself new Yeezys, for that matter. But he _likes_ it. And he knows that that doesn’t mean much to his dad, but…

_WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!_

Maybe he’s right. After all, Zuko _was_ doing better in physics before he missed that class last week, and missing classes would certainly count as laziness of the highest proportion in Ozai’s book.

_THUMP! THUMP! WHACK!_

But, Zuko reasons with himself, he didn’t miss that class out of laziness. He didn’t just not go because he didn’t feel like it. He’d been in the library at the time, hadn’t he?

_WHACK! WHACK!_

Yes, he’d been studying. Missing the class was just an accident. An accident that would have never happened if his watch hadn’t—

Zuko freezes, leg already raised. His eyes dart from the bag to the window to the clock on the wall.

His watch.

_Fuck._

There’s nothing for it. He only has time to grab his duffel, his car keys, and shove his feet into his sneakers before running out the door. _How_ could he have forgotten? Now he’s glad for the S-class, because getting to Teo’s before they close is going to take all of its considerable horsepower.

He drives like a maniac and squeals into a parking space with five minutes to go. A glance in the rearview mirror brings only despair — he’s sweaty, tired, and his hair is a mess. For a second he considers just coming back tomorrow, but he can’t quite bring himself to do it; he’d rather Sokka see him like this than think he’s standing him up.

The bell tinkles overhead like always, and a familiar head pops up at the counter. Blue eyes land on him and go wide, and Zuko wishes he could sink through the floor.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself!” Sokka exclaims, looking him up and down. “I thought you forgot about me.”

“Um, no,” Zuko edges up to the counter, suddenly very conscious of the way his gi is gapping down to his sternum. “I’m really sorry. I was at the dojo and I lost track of time— ”

“I didn’t know you were a black belt,” Sokka interrupts, pointing.

“What? Oh,” Zuko picks at it. “Yeah.”

Sokka’s still looking at him kind of strangely, and he pushes his sweaty hair out of his eyes self-consciously. This is _so_ not how he wanted this to go. 

“Look, I’m really sorry,” he mutters. “I didn’t mean to waste your time. I just had kind of a bad day and forgot what I was doing.”

“Hey, that’s okay,” Sokka says gently. “Don’t worry about it. It’s no big deal.”

It _is_ a big deal, but Zuko figures it would be bad form to argue. “You’re doing me a favor, and everything, and I—”

“Seriously, Zuko,” Sokka says, and Zuko feels himself melt. “Don’t worry about it.”

He fumbles with his gi. He’s having a hard time meeting those blue eyes in the complete quiet of the shop. Now that the moment of panic has mostly passed, he feels more sweaty and awkward than ever. “I know you guys are closed, now. I can just come back tomorrow—”

“What?” Sokka says, like he’s crazy. “Nah. Just let me lock up and I’ll meet you out front.”

Zuko almost chokes. 

“Go on,” Sokka shoos him. “Out front. Give me five minutes.”

The sky is just starting to turn pink when the bell tinkles again, and Sokka comes out the front door. He’s holding a skateboard in one hand and a ring of keys in the other, and Zuko watches as he turns the key in the lock one-handed. He’s got more beads in his hair today, silver and blue shining in the early sunset. Zuko ruffles his own hair nervously. 

“Woah,” Sokka says, turning around and stopping short. “That’s yours?”

Zuko stops leaning against the Mercedes at once. “Yes.”

“Woah,” Sokka says again, eyes wide as he walks towards the car. “Sick.” He examines it for a moment, walking around it with an expression of ecstasy and shouldering the skateboard. “Man, I wish I had active body control on _this_ thing.”

Zuko blinks. It’s hard to concentrate on what he’s saying when the sunlight is shining on his skin like that. 

“New trucks are good, but…” Sokka sighs. “They’re definitely not hydraulic.”

He seems to notice Zuko’s silence and glances up, prompting the other boy to yank his gaze away over the rooftops. Sokka clears his throat.

“So. Bad day?”

“Yeah,” Zuko sighs, edging forward to make room as Sokka drops his backpack next to him. “Very.”

Sokka nods, and Zuko is about to say _something_ — what, he doesn’t know, but _something_ — when Sokka’s hands go to the zipper of his hoodie. And then — oh god, and _then_ — he’s unzipping it, and more and more of his white wife beater is coming into view, and _oh god oh god oh god_.

The hoodie is stuffed into Sokka’s backpack, and it takes everything Zuko has not to gawk openly. Sokka definitely works out. His body is lean but toned, his stomach flat under his tank top. His chest and arms are muscular in the way that betray functional strength, shaped by hard lines underneath that beautiful caramel skin. And there, wrapping around his left bicep, is his tattoo. It’s obviously tribal in nature, a band of geometric patterns and curling waves, and Zuko can definitely feel something tightening in his stomach looking at it.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Huh?” Zuko says.

“You don’t have to tell me about it if you don’t want to,” Sokka says quickly. “But, you know, if you want to get anything off your chest, you can.”

He looks at him expectantly, crossing his arms and following Zuko’s lead, leaning against the car next to him. It’s Zuko’s turn to clear his throat.

“Oh, you know. Parents.”

Sokka nods wisely. “An age-old ailment.”

“It’s my dad, actually,” Zuko says suddenly, pushing himself up off the car and turning towards the sunset. “My dad. Not my parents.”

There’s silence from behind him, and he glances over his shoulder. Sokka is looking back at him expectantly, his blue eyes patient.

“He just doesn’t get it,” Zuko continues, surprising himself with the frustration in his voice. “He wants me to be an engineer, just like him, and my grandpa, and my great-grandpa. My sister’s doing it, too.”

“You don’t like it?”

“It’s not even that. I like it just fine,” Zuko says, surprising himself again. He hadn’t thought about it before, but the second it comes out of his mouth, he knows it’s true. “What I _don’t_ like is his voice in my fucking ear. I have to get all A’s and perfect attendance and top lab scores just for him to get off my back.”

“All A’s?” Sokka wrinkles his nose. “But it’s _engineering_. That’s hard. What if you make a mistake?”

“Yeah,” Zuko says, flopping back against the car. “Exactly.”

“Huh.”

“And he pays for this car and my apartment and everything as long as I keep it up. The thing is, though, I don’t even really _care_ much about that.” Another thing that he hadn’t known was true, but he’s sure he means it as soon as he says it. “I mean, it’s nice, of course. I was lucky enough to grow up with money, and it’s a small price to pay for all the nice stuff I get. But…” Zuko shifts. “What I _really_ want is for him to tell me he’s proud of me. Just once.”

Sokka looks at him sideways. “You mean… he never has?”

“Nope. At least, not that I can remember.”

They’re quiet for a moment.

“Wow,” Sokka says finally. “No offense, but that’s kinda fucked up.”

Zuko can’t help it — he cracks a smile. “Yeah, I guess it pretty much is.”

“It _totally_ is.” Sokka is frowning. “You’re a good son. You deserve it.”

“I guess. I just… let him down a lot.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m pulling a B in physics right now and he called me about it this morning. It just threw my whole day off.”

“But… that’s not bad,” Sokka says, and a tiny wave of relief, almost like he’s gotten permission, ripples through Zuko. “There’s nothing wrong with a B. You should be proud of that.”

“Do you think?”

“Of course,” Sokka says firmly, and the feeling spreads. “That’s a _good_ grade, especially for a class like physics.”

“But my sister…” Zuko runs his hand through his hair again, wondering what’s possessing him to spill his guts to this complete stranger. “She’s two years younger than me, and she already passed this class with flying colors.”

“So what?” Sokka says shortly, almost defensively. “There’s always going to be people better than us, and worse than us. The worst thing you can do is compare. You’ll just get bitter or vain.”

“I know,” Zuko says, a bit desperately, wanting him to understand. “I don’t _want_ to compare myself to her, but my dad’s always doing it, so she’s always doing it, and sometimes it just feels like _everyone’s_ comparing me to Azula.”

“Well, I get that. My sister’s an activist, a real shining light in the world of politics. A beacon. And here I am,” he huffs out a laugh, “fucking around with watches all day.”

“Hey,” Zuko says, defensive himself now. “Watchwork is _hard_. You’re the youngest person I’ve ever known to work on them.”

“I guess.”

“Seriously,” Zuko tugs at the ends of his belt. “Don’t sell yourself short. You’re a genius.”

They look at each other for a second, and then, in perfect sync, turn their heads towards the sunset. There’s a short silence, during which Sokka looks like he might be trying not to smile.

“It sure is pretty tonight.”

“Yeah,” Zuko agrees, and feels with sudden clarity how romantic this situation would be under different circumstances.

Another short silence. 

“Well,” Sokka says finally, crouching down to his backpack, “I’ve got the watches here for you.”

“Oh,” Zuko says. He’d temporarily forgotten why they’re here together in a parking lot watching the sunset. “Oh, right.”

The options Sokka has brought are decent, but nothing stunning. They’re basic, all of them, and definitely second-hand. The leather straps are worn, some of the faces a little bit scratched.

“They’re nothing special,” Sokka says, watching him carefully. “But you definitely won’t have to worry about messing them up.”

“I like them,” Zuko says truthfully, picking one up.

Sokka grins.

“So, you said you’re not into jewelry?”

“No, I am,” Sokka says, and starts fiddling with his beaded hair in a most distracting way. “Watchwork and jewelry just fall into two different categories.”

“How’s that?”

“Watchwork is for the mind,” Sokka says. “Jewelry is for the heart.”

Zuko glances at him. His hair is reflecting the pink and gold of the sunset. His blue eyes are cool, soothing, but stirring. He crosses his arms again, muscles flexing, and Zuko looks away quickly.

“The heart, huh?”

“Sure,” Sokka says, a little dreamily. “Like Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton.”

“Hm.”

“Yeah… you’ve probably heard all the stories. Like her Van Cleef & Arpels ruby ring. He gave it to her for Christmas — people say it’s the most perfect ruby in the world. But I like sapphires the best.”

“But that would be impossible,” Zuko says without thinking. “For someone to give you the most perfect sapphires in the world.”

“Hm?” Sokka looks up at him, confused. “How come?”

 _Oh god._ Idiot! Zuko can feel his face going steadily and deeply red, but it’s too late now. “Well… you know. Because you already have them.”

Still confused. “I do?”

“Yeah,” Zuko says, wanting to die. “You know… in your face.”

“In my…?” 

Then comprehension dawns on Sokka’s features, and his hand drifts upwards towards his eyes. Zuko waits for him to say, ‘Wow, that’s kind of gay.’ Or, ‘Wow, you’re super weird.’ But he doesn’t. Instead, he touches the corner of his eye and then looks down, scuffing the toe of his high-top into the gravel. And is that — is he _blushing?_

“Are you, uh… are you flirting with me?”

Zuko buries his burning face into his hands and laughs despairingly. “Well, I’m trying to.”

“Why?”

Zuko looks up. Sokka has turned a lovely peach color that’s nothing like Zuko’s own blotchy red, and looks extremely confused. It’s Zuko’s turn to fidget, toeing his Yeezys into the ground.

“Well, you know… I, uh… I like you.”

He bites his lip and waits for the swift, crushing rejection that’s sure to come. Instead, there’s silence. Sokka’s staring at him, and the blush isn’t going away.

“You… like me.”

“Um… yeah.”

“ _You_ …” Sokka jabs a finger at him, “like _me_.” He pokes his own finger into his chest.

“That’s what I said,” Zuko answers, starting to get a little annoyed. Since rejection is inevitable, couldn’t it at least happen quickly?

“You. Mercedes Benz-driving, Cartier-wearing, certified-ninja-Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Handsome. _You_ like _me_.” Sokka is beginning to smile, and Zuko feels a confusing swoop of elation and panic.

“Yes. I mean, no! I mean, _yes_ , but I’m not tall, dark, and handsome—”

“Oh please,” Sokka huffs. His cheeks are still pink. “Have you, like, literally never looked in a mirror or something?”

The feeling is slowly starting to come back to Zuko’s legs. “Wait. So you — so you—”

“Zuko,” Sokka says, now grinning broadly, “most of the time I can’t squeeze five words out of you. So could you please channel that energy right now and let me enjoy the best moment of my life?”

Zuko, forever unable to follow instructions, opens his mouth in a flustered kind of way and then Sokka is kissing him. He’s so close that Zuko can smell his Old Spice deodorant and the faint bite of WD-40. Zuko gasps, and the other boy pulls back, searching his face. Their bodies are so close now that Zuko feels like he might melt.

“Fuck, you are gorgeous,” Sokka whispers, and Zuko knows that no pair of gi pants would hide the situation growing downstairs.

“Shut the hell up for once and kiss me,” he whispers.

Sokka does.

His lips are warm, soft, and deliciously full as they press against Zuko’s. The kiss is hesitant at first and then grows firmer, both of them curious and desiring and eager. Zuko licks along Sokka’s lower lip — he’s let in almost at once, with a kind of low sigh that stirs his blood. His hands tighten on bare shoulders, his fingers brushing against tribal ink, and he presses their bodies together. They both hitch a breath, and the kiss deepens. Zuko’s head is spinning, and he’s half-aware of burying his hand in the thick, soft depths of Sokka’s hair. There are warm hands on his jaw, drawing him closer, and he can _feel_ something half-hard against his thigh. Sokka’s warm tongue is sweeping over his own, tasting him, and he knows that he’s a complete goner.

When they finally come up for air, Sokka is laughing.

“What?” Zuko demands, burying his face into the warm curve of his neck. “What the hell are you laughing about?”

“You,” Sokka’s voice rumbles through him, making his heart stutter. “Did you really forget to come today, or was it all by design?”

“Design?”

“Yeah,” Sokka says, his hands coming up to card through Zuko’s hair. “I’m just wondering if it was on purpose, you showing up all sweaty and sexy like this.”

“Sexy?” Zuko’s voice is scandalized, and Sokka laughs again. “I’m disgusting.”

“If this is you at ‘disgusting’, then I don’t think I can be around you when you’re sexy. I wouldn’t be able to control myself.”

Zuko groans and drags his lips along Sokka’s neck, trailing down to the coveted collarbone. He can hear it when Sokka sucks in a breath.

“Well, you know, there _are_ only two more weeks in the semester… and I need serious help if I’m going to scrape an A in this physics class.”

“Oh yeah?” Sokka breathes. “Are you trying to hire me?”

“Maybe.”

“Well,” Sokka whispers, fingers tightening in Zuko’s hair, “I think we could probably work something out.”

“Oh, I’m going to work you out, alright.”

“Zuko!” Sokka blushes again, and hits him, hard. He has the makings of quite a martial artist — that’s definitely going to leave a bruise, but it doesn’t matter.

Zuko is in love.


End file.
